


A World That Never Was

by Edoraslass, just_ann_now



Series: Two Heirs [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoraslass/pseuds/Edoraslass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the AU's that have given us such pleasure over the years. Not a traditionally chaptered story but a collection of drabbles, ficlets, and vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five Things That Never Happened to Théodred and Boromir

**Five Things That Never Happened to Théodred and Boromir** , by Edoraslass

 

The midwife comes to Théoden King. Her eyes are red, and his heart stops.

She does not need to speak the words.

When he demands it, she leads him into the room, and leaves him alone.

For an eternity, he sits with Elfhild, holding her hand until all warmth departs.  
Then, trembling, he picks up the motionless bundle that lies by his wife’s side.

~*~

 

When they meet, it is as if lightning has struck.

But only for one. 

When he looks hopefully into the eyes of the other, he sees only diplomatic interest, that of one heir for another, and the curiosity that always comes with meeting someone new.  
But no spark, no fire, and for a moment, the disappointment threatens to crush him.

He smiles, and hopes the smile does not look too false. 

That night, he cannot sleep for dreaming of the other’s face. In the days that follow, he is torn between avoiding the other, and seeking him out, simply to enjoy his company while he can.

He tells himself it is only a youthful infatution, and that it will pass. 

But each time they meet in the following years, his heart always leaps, his breath always stops -- and always the other’s gaze is no more than polite.

He buries his emotions deeply, and there they stay, surfacing only in dreams that leave him shaken and full of yearning, never to be fulfilled.

 

~*~

 

They sit in Boromir’s study, reliving memories, complaining of aches new and old.

Boromir’s hair is salted now; soon he will be grey entirely. If there is grey in Théodred’s hair, it is nearly invisible amongst the gold which still shines by the firelight.

They talk of their grandchildren, their wives, the dullness of their respective ranks; all the things that old friends discuss after a long parting.

When all news has been exchanged, Boromir locks the door, and they come together, eagerly, yet with the infinite tenderness that comes with age and familiarity. 

Their youthful heat is now a comforting warmth of which they have never tired.

 

~*~

 

Boromir stops in Edoras, saying that he is on an errand for his father. He goes to stable his horse, alone, for Théodred will not return until evening.

His body, throat slit from ear to ear, is found by a terrified stable hand. 

Théodred knows this is the work of Wormtongue, but he cannot prove it. He also knows that the Steward will hold Rohan responsible for the assassination of his Heir. 

All talks are fruitless; all promises of retribution are ignored. The Lord Denethor is enraged beyond reason, and less than a month later, Gondor invades. 

The House of Eorl is wiped out, and the Mark burns. Riders and common folk alike turn to desperate tactics to defend themselves, and blood runs as freely as the river Isen. It is a slaughter.

Rohan is left without a King; the line of Stewards is ended. Both countries fall into chaos.

When Sauron unleashes his forces, neither has the strength to resist.

 

~*~

 

He stops in Edoras, and says he is on an errand for his father. After discussion, Théodred decides to accompany him.

Their journey is long, but they are laughing and joyful to be alone together for so many days.

They marvel at Rivendell, freeze on Caradhas, fight in Moria,weep and rest in Lothlorien.

Théodred sees the change in Boromir, and fears for him. But he cannot turn away; he will never abandon the man who holds his heart.

While the two of them are searching for Frodo, Boromir confesses to what he has done. Théodred tries to calm him, to ease his guilt. 

They are caught unawares by the Uruk-hai.

When Aragorn arrives, he finds two bodies pierced by many arrows. Théodred lies sprawled across Boromir, as if in an attempt to keep him from harm.

They are given to the River, never again to be seen by Guard or Rider.


	2. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to both Sir Philip Sidney, and to heartofoshun, without whose valuable assistance this story would neither have been started nor finished. A special thanks to littlereview, who posted the poem in her journal on February 29, 2008. I've had it waiting all this time for the story I knew would go with it. 
> 
> A birthday gift for Edoraslass.

**Secrets** , by just_ann_now 

_There's something very wrong here,_ Faramir thought.

Faramir had thought that Boromir and Théodred were friends, but would never have guessed it to see their behavior here at the conference table. They never seemed to look at each other, for one thing; their eyes always seeming to fix on a point just beyond each other's shoulder. Théodred appeared to be lost in utter fascination of the Chancellor of the Exchequer's words as he droned on and on about wool tariffs. Boromir stifled yawns and visibly fought to avoid drumming his fingers on the table. 

After the day's negotiations were finished, Faramir escaped to the Upper Garden. Surely the fresh air would clear his befuddleness from long hours in a stuffy chamber with only the intricacies of grazing rights to consider. As he approached his favorite spot, murmured conversation and a soft, familiar laugh told him that someone was already there. 

"You did that so well! I could almost believe you were angry with me."

"I've never done anything so difficult. All I wanted to do was look at you. I tried just looking at your hands instead. But then I started thinking about your hands, and what you did with them that last night, and I ..."

"You broke into a sweat. I noticed, and my father, as well. He thinks it's something to do with the tariff rates; he's got three scriveners going over that part of the treaty tonight to try to figure out what Rohan is trying to slip by that's got you so tense.."

"What's got me so tense? If only he knew. Ah, Boromir..."

"Theo," A long sigh, and then a gasp that sounded almost like a sob. "I hate this, I hate the secrecy, the shamefulness. Why can we not..." 

"Hush, love, hush. You know that we must bear this, as we always have. " More whispered words. Faramir turned away.

The next morning, he watched them again. The careful, measured cadence of the negotiations was like a courtly dance between the two nations, embodied in their two favored sons. Only Faramir caught the underlying truth between them. Opening his leather folio he wrote quickly, using the ancient runes of Doriath which he had taught himself as a boy. No one else glancing at his papers would be able to read what he wrote.

_My true love hath my heart and I have his,_  
By just exchange one for another given;  
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,  
There never was a better bargain driven.  
My true love has my heart and I have his. 

_His heart in me keeps him and me in one,_  
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;  
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,  
I cherish his, because in me it bides.  
My true love hath my heart and I have his. 

["My True Love Hath My Heart and I Have His"  
By Sir Phillip Sidney]

 

**Coda**

_Tonight_ , Boromir said to himself. _It will be tonight._

~*~

The Great Hall of Merethrond gleamed in the candlelight. The guests assembled within glittered in their finery. The trade negotiations, which had seemed somewhat tense at times, had been concluded successfully. Now both parties could relax, and celebrate the prospect of mutually beneficial arrangements for years to come.

A sennet of trumpets announced the arrival of Théoden King and his son. Lord Denethor, Boromir, and Faramir all bowed to their honored guests; then Boromir stepped forward to clasp Prince Théodred's arms in a warrior's embrace. 

"Trust me?" he whispered.

"Always," Théodred replied. 

"Always," Boromir repeated. Then, to Théodred's utter amazement, Boromir leaned forward and kissed him. 

It was not a liege lord's kiss, or a kinsman's, or a friend's. Slow and deep, possessive, unashamed; there was no mistaking the meaning of that kiss. 

King Théoden himself broke the stunned silence in the hall by beginning to clap, slow and steady. Faramir glanced towards his father, then joined in, boldly, as did Prince Imrahil, his sons, and many others. Boromir and Théodred finally broke their kiss, but remained, foreheads leaning together, in their embrace. "No more secrets," Boromir whispered. Then he turned to face his father.

~*~

Their breathing gradually slowed. Boromir's head was pillowed on Théodred's thigh. He ran his fingertips down the underside of Théo's knee. "That tickles," Théo murmured, and Boromir could feel his rumbling laughter. _Would that it could always be like this,_ he thought.

"What do you think will happen today?" Théodred asked.

Boromir barked a laugh. "I think I shall be called to Steward's chamber and subject to a long and angry diatribe about the laws and customs of the Eldar, and how they shaped Numenorean law, and how I have insulted the honor of all Gondor, as well as my house, _and_ subjected the office of the Captain-General to ridicule. There will no point in bringing up _my_ honor, or the fact that my "perversion", as I'm sure he will call it, has been an open secret in Minas Tirith since I was, oh, sixteen. He will probably find some reason to avoid attending your father's departure ceremony today, pleading "urgent business", and may seek to find a way to keep me from attending as well. The last thing he will want would be another scene like last night's."

Théo's eyes shone. "That was brilliant. What a way to force the issue into the open! I never imagined - I'm sorry, love, but I never imagined that you would do such a thing."

Boromir turned to pull him close. "Nor did I, but I finally realized there are other kinds of courage than that of the battlefield. This was a battle for my honor, and it was time to take the fight from the shadows into the light."


	3. Warmth

**Warmth** , by just_ann_now and Edoraslass 

A bitter wind pursued us from Parth Galen on through the Gap of Rohan; sometimes it seemed as though we would never be warm again. Only the promise of a brief respite at Edoras kept the remaining members of the Fellowship from despair. 

Boromir was a wonder to me during those days. The closer we came to Rohan the higher his spirits rose, as if some demon that had gripped his heart had been shaken loose and banished. He took Merry and Pippin under his wing like chicks, seeing always to their safety and comfort, making sure their bedrolls were out of the wind, teaching them how to snare small game to supplement our dwindling rations. Throughout those long days and nights of cold and misery, his vivid tales of hot spiced wine, savory roast mutton, and cozy featherbeds raised our spirits when all seemed bleak and hopeless.

When finally we came to the Golden Hall, we found that all his promises were true: roaring fires, hot baths, food and drink and cheer almost beyond imagining. I sat in a quiet fireside corner, savoring the warmth; enjoying the halflings’ delight as they ate, drank, sang, then stumbled off to bed. Legolas and Gimli drained flagon after flagon of ale between them, and then wandered away, still debating the supremacy of ax and knife over bow and arrow. I smiled to see them so.

Boromir had disappeared soon after our arrival, as had our host Prince Théodred; but after a time they returned to the hall together. Boromir was obviously a well-known guest; he laughed and chatted and replied in kind to ribald jests, glowing with relaxation. I saw Théodred slip his arm around Boromir, sliding his hand along that muscled thigh; and suddenly I understood why my tentative offers of comfort had always been gently turned aside. 

At that moment Théodred looked toward me. He murmured something to Boromir, evidently surprising him with his words; but then Boromir nodded, smiling; and the two of them came to the table where I sat alone, still wrapped in my damp cloak.

“Ranger, you look chilled to the bone. Let us warm you.”

~*~

I lay gasping, and Boromir lay next to me, breath coming in short, hard bursts.

“What happened on your journey that you come back to me so fierce with need?” I asked once I could speak again. 

Boromir turned his head, giving me a lazy, satisfied grin. “Surely you are not complaining?”

“Did I sound like I was complaining?” I laughed. “Come, tell me of your travels. I need a bit of time to recover before we return to the hall.”

So he told me of Imladris, and their journeys in the wild, of Caradhras and Moria and Lothlorien. He told me of his companions, and I marveled at the strangeness of such an odd band roaming the lands. 

He spoke most fondly of the hobylta, which did not surprise me. Boromir enjoyed having someone to protect and defend. I noticed, however, that he did not speak much of the Ranger – Aragorn son of Arathorn, and Isildur's heir– other when mention of him could not be avoided.

I had seen how the Ranger looked at Boromir, of course I had. I know the signs of wanting in a man’s face, and this man wanted Boromir. And from the wistful hunger in his expression, his desire had not been fulfilled. I found that odd; Boromir and I had never begrudged each other companionship where we could find it, and they seemed to be on friendly terms. 

“You speak of this Aragorn as if he is merely a traveling companion,” I pointed out, and saw a shadow of wariness creep into Boromir’s eyes. “Come, do not tell me that he made no advances at all toward you; I have seen how he watches you. I have watched you that way myself. Did you not accept him?”

I was smiling, but I was surprised to see Boromir flush, and he pulled away from me slightly. “I ….I did not,” he admitted, a bit defensively. “There was precious little privacy, Theodred, and I –“ he trailed off, and I waited patiently. “I did not think it would be wise. And it would have made this visit quite awkward as well.”

Watching Boromir as he spoke, I realized two things. Firstly, that Boromir was attracted to the other man. It was nothing I could lay my finger on, but I had known Boromir many years, seen him in many moods, and I knew very well when he found a man appealing. Secondly – and this did surprise me – that Boromir seemed almost embarrassed by the fact that he was drawn to Aragorn. It had been years since he had been shy of admitting to me when a handsome man caught his attention – what had changed? 

I asked him, and he did not answer immediately. “It is different,” he said at last, clearly uncomfortable. “You said you have seen how Aragorn watches me – tell me, does he watch me as a man who wants only comfort? I think he would want more, and it would not be honourable to use him so, only to push him aside once we reached Rohan.” Boromir sighed. “And…when I have passed time with other men, those men have not been friends. Even if he did want simple comfort, it would have – I would have felt …”

I broke in gently, for his reluctance was taking the words from him. “You would have felt disloyal to me?” He nodded once, tensely. “Boromir, I have never had any concerns as to your loyalty. I know full well that you are mine, as I am yours.” It was nothing but truth, and some of the tension went out of him. “It does not bother me that that you find him attractive, nor I am surprised that Aragorn finds you appealing -- I am only surprised when a man does not watch you as a hungry wolf.” Boromir snorted, though he was obviously both pleased and relieved. I grinned, and leaned toward him. “But I cannot deny that I am flattered that you would worry so.”

I kissed him, and he sighed, moving closer to me. “I am afraid we must rejoin the others,” I said when we had parted. “I am the host, after all.”

“My stomach agrees,” Boromir replied with a chuckle as he sat up. “For miles I have been boasting about the fine meals your kitchen lays out.” 

I watched him as we dressed; he was thinner than I had ever seen him, and long weeks of walking through rough terrain had hardened his muscles in a way I was not sure I liked. I had also found new, just-healed marks of combat on him; as ever, I was deeply grateful that none of these wounds had taken him from me. Though we always mentioned skirmishes we had fought while we were apart, we had never given each other many details; it was unnecessary. For my part, I never asked. I did not want to know how close he had come to death. 

Lost in such thoughts, I started a bit when Boromir came up behind me and put his arms around me. I relaxed and leaned against him, enjoying the warm strength of his body supporting me.

Then a delightful idea struck me. “Would you wish to invite Aragorn to join us?” I twisted my neck to see his reaction.

Boromir blinked, startled. “I…I do not know,” he said slowly. “I had not considered such a thing…”

“Consider it now,” I said, turning to face him. I brought my lips to his neck, just below his ear, a particularly weak spot. “Imagine two mouths on your body, seeking to bring you pleasure," he caught his breath, “or his mouth on you, while I am taking you.” His arms tightened almost painfully around me, and I smiled to myself. If such talk affected him so, I could only imagine how he would react to the reality. 

 

~*~

 

When we returned to the hall, it did not appear that we had been missed. Boromir was much more at ease than he had been upon his arrival, and he laughed often, talking familiarly with the Riders who lingered over their ale. It was my favourite way to see him, happy and content, and I put my arm around him, running my hand along his thigh, soothed, as always, by his very presence. 

I noticed that the Ranger was still sitting by himself at a table by the fire, and that he was watching us with an expression of resigned understanding. I leaned closer to Boromir and said quietly, “I was not in jest. If you wish to bring Aragorn into our bed, I am willing.” 

Boromir glanced at me, hesitation warring with eagerness on his face. “You are certain?” 

I nodded; of course I was certain. I had no fear that Aragorn could steal Boromir away from me, even if he were the sort of man who would try such a thing. And I also knew that Boromir would not act on his attraction to the Ranger, no matter how I assured him that I did not mind. I understood Aragorn’s appeal; it was not as if I would get no enjoyment from such an arrangement. In fact, I found the notion of watching Boromir with him exciting. 

Boromir grinned suddenly, and stood, and I followed him to where the Ranger sat. He was still wrapped in his traveling cloak, looking very alone.

“Ranger, you look chilled to the bone. Let us warm you.”

~*~

Aragorn choked slightly, nearly spitting out his drink; then stood up, looking both pleased and uncertain. “The bathhouse, first, I think,” Théo said, winking at me as we each took him by the arm. I laughed, suddenly exhilarated: I never knew what to expect from Théo, except that it would be unusual, memorable, and infinitely satisfying. I _did_ know well what went on in that bathhouse.

When we entered, Théo stopped, nodding almost imperceptibly, then slipped back to bolt the door. I turned to face Aragorn, taking his face in my hands, running my fingers over the handsome planes of his cheekbones. I had never dared to look at him so, never ready to accept the invitation I had seen in his eyes, but tonight would be different. He returned my glance just as searchingly, and so when I reached for him he leaned into my kiss, welcoming my questing tongue. His mouth tasted of spiced wine. 

I wanted all at once to feel his skin, so I impatiently unbuttoned his tunic. Théo was behind him, slipping the shirt from his shoulders as I ran my fingers down that fine chest, barely brushing across his nipples. I broke the kiss, leaving him gasping; then ran my tongue down his throat, chest, belly. My hands met Théo’s as we both began to unfasten Aragorn’s breeches; Théo slid them from his hips as I reached down to stroke him.

_Take him in your mouth, Borya,_ Théo murmured. _I want to watch._ Aragorn startled slightly at the words, but Theo’s touch, his fingertips and lips on Aragorn’s body, were gentle, calming. So at my lover’s command, I knelt to serve my king. 

He tasted of our long journey, sour sweat and dust, but familiar, comforting. He fit me well, and I could feel him tremble as I ran my tongue over and around his length. At first he gently stroked my hair, but as his urgency grew he gripped my shoulders. There would be bruises later. 

Théo was behind him, his breeches loosened as well; I matched my rhythm to his as he rubbed his shaft against Aragorn’s bottom. Warmth was rising in my belly, but not hardness; Théo had used me well, not an hour ago. I knew no other man with such stamina as he. I sensed him watching me through half-closed eyes, over Aragorn’s shoulder, the three of us rocking together in ancient rhythm until first Aragorn groaned his release, and then Théo. I reached my arms back around Théo’s powerful thighs to hold the three of us together until they regained their breath. 

Then Théo chuckled. “I suppose we all need a bath, now.” 

Aragorn threw back his head and laughed, a joyful sound, as I stood up. “A hot soak will do us all good.” I said, rubbing my knees. “I’m not so young as I once was.”

~*~

Boromir rolled over, then reached to curl his hand around Théo’s shaft as he always did upon waking beside him in this wide bed. In his half-dream, Théo’s body seemed slimmer, bonier; the hair of his long legs more coarse. _Even his fragrance seems different_ , Boromir thought sleepily, as he nestled his lips into the curve of his lover’s neck. Earthier, like new alder leaves, unlike Théo’s usual scent of sunlight and leather. _Not Théo, Aragorn,_ Boromir thought, and started to pull back his hand.

But a strong grip stopped him; long slender fingers caressed his palm, his wrist, before taking his hand and moving it back. Aragorn turned his head slightly, just enough to run his tongue under Boromir’s jaw; when he gasped, Aragorn thrust his tongue inside the younger man’s mouth. Startled at first, Boromir sighed, then relaxed against Aragorn’s body. _No point in playing the shy maiden now,_ he thought, surrendering wholeheartedly to the kiss.

He would never have imagined the Aragorn who had shared their bed: he seemed younger, less careworn; imaginative and playful. _What burdens he has borne for us,_ Boromir thought, _and how happy he is to lay them down for a time._ It was the first time he and Théo had ever invited another to join them, yet Boromir had not felt jealous or supplanted. Aragorn’s presence, his taste and scent, even the strange words he cried in his passion added an element of the exotic to their loveplay, like a heady wine. Boromir had felt powerfully aroused watching him and Théo together, and in his own turns with each of them, he found himself curiously shameless at the thought of being watched. It had been a night like no other; and it did not seem as though there could ever be another night quite like it.

~*~

Awakened by the rustling of the bedclothes, Théodred turned on his side, propping himself on an elbow, stroking himself idly as he watched his companions take their pleasure of each other.

 _How different they are, yet how alike,_ he thought. For all that they are handsome, virile in their prime, they are both curiously innocent. Twenty years I have loved Boromir, in so many different ways, yet each time he comes to me it is like the first; pure and new. And this Ranger, for all his skill and imagination – how is it that _we_ never thought of _that_? – seems more like an untried boy, shy and uncertain as to how we will react to his advances. _It has been a good night,_ Théodred thought, his skin tingling at the memory. _Sometimes lovemaking can restore a man better than sleep._

~*~

_This is a dream. Would that I could live in it another hour, a day, a lifetime._

I had been awakened by the insistent nudging of a shaft against me; then was surprised to be taken in hand by a warm, calloused palm. Unsure of the morning customs here, I simply lay, savoring the intimacy, until I realized that the hand belonged to Boromir, and that he was now fully awake. I had so longed for his touch, yearned to feel that mouth, hungry and eager under mine, that without thought or hesitation I seized the opportunity to taste my fill of him.

That Boromir and Théodred would share their precious hours together with me was a gift beyond imagining. I sought to repay it in kind, drawing upon memories of tales and songs I had blushed to hear in my youth, but longed to explore and reenact. I am no innocent, but I had never yet felt as comfortable, as natural in lovemaking as these two were; it was like poetry to watch them. To share, even for a moment, in their sensual dance was more arousing than anything I had ever experienced. I had never imagined such a night; I dared not hope it would ever happen again.

~*~

It never did happen again. Within the month I had lost them both: the golden prince, his beautiful body shattered by a fell beast’s fury; his lover, my friend and companion, giving his life for the land he loved. I came too late to save him. _Brother, captain, king,_ he called me; and I wept for them both; but then I saw his eyes warm with joy as he gazed somewhere beyond me. _Oh, love,_ he murmured, _let us go together,_ and then he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for Ribby.


	4. Five Things That Never Happened to Théodred and Boromir

**In Which The Lovers Are Finally Reunited** , by just_ann_now

 

Théodred opened his eyes to find himself lying at the edge of a rocky stream. The late winter sun shone feebly on his face, yet there was a springlike softness in the air. He could hear birds singing nearby, and he was startled when a curlew landed near his head, surveying him perkily with one bright eye before skittering off in search of food. _That's odd,_ he wondered, and then, _Where is Grimbold?_ Struggling to sit up, he looked about for his sword, but found nothing: no sign of battle or struggle, no dead orcs or dying men. Nothing at all.

Quickly scanning the stream banks and the low mossy rise beyond, he suddenly realized that he did not recognize that landscape. His instincts told him he was in no immediate danger, but provided no other clue as to how he got to wherever he was. He remembered the battle: screaming men and horses, the agonizing blow that had brought him to his knees, that last deadly thrust, and then the triumphant howl of the orcs. Almost unconsciously he reached down towards his belly; he could feel his fingers sinking into his gut. He pulled his hand away and stared at it, dark and slick. There was no way he could have survived such a wound.

“I am dead,” he said aloud, surprised at the sound of his own voice.

Moving slowly at first, he climbed up the bank, stopping for a moment under the alder trees at the top. The fresh scent of the swelling alder buds heartened him, as they always did, and he suddenly felt a strange sense of urgency, a force impelling him further, up towards the crest of the hill. He was nearly to the top when he saw it - a glimmer of gold and sheen of silk, still rich and lovely though worn and travel-stained. He ran forward, his heart in his mouth, for as surely as he knew his own name, he knew whom he had found. “Boromir!”

Cradling Boromir in his arms, Théodred quickly noted the gashes in his surcotte, the jagged edges of - how many arrow wounds? He swallowed and looked away, not wanting to imagine the ferocity of the attack. Had there been no one to fight at Boromir's side? Had he died alone, the last valiant survivor of whatever quest those fateful words had led him to? Yet to his wonder Théodred felt Boromir begin to stir, tensing in his arms as men do just before they are fully conscious. “Whoa, there, softly, softly,” Théodred murmured. How many times in his life had he used those words to calm a skittish or fearful mount? The words seemed to have the same affect on Boromir, and Théodred could feel the man relax slightly in his arms before opening his eyes. 

“Théodred? Théodred! How can this be possible? Is your éored with you? What of the halflings? And Frodo - where is Frodo? ”

Gently Théodred rested his hand on his companion's shoulder. “I cannot answer your questions, Boromir, for in truth, I do not know where we are, or how we came to be here, or even who Frodo is.”

Boromir looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What are you talking about? This is the Parth Galen, the Hill of Seeing. We were attacked by orcs. They took the little ones, Merry and Pippin, but ...”

“Look around you. Is this any land that you recognize? And even if it was, how could _I_ be here? I was at the Fords of Isen, eighty leagues from Rauros, when I fell.”

“You were mistaken, then. You are confused, for obviously you _are_ here. Perhaps you were carried downstream...” Boromir sat up, running his fingers through his lank hair. He shook his head dazedly. “What do you mean, 'When you fell?'”

Théodred took Boromir's hand, chafing it between his own. It was scratched and filthy, the nails bitten nearly down to the quick, but it was Boromir's hand, and Théodred gently ran his finger down the life-line before laying a kiss in the center of the palm. “Orcs, of course. I always knew it would happen sometime. I think you did, too.”

“No!” Boromir jumped up. “You have gone mad! I am not.... you are not....we cannot be!” Frantically he ran his fingers over his chest and belly, each place where an arrow had left its mark; they came away smeared with blood. He stopped and tried to take a deep breath but a fit of coughing left him gasping. He stared hard at Théodred.

“We _are_ dead,” he said wonderingly.

Théodred nodded. What was there to say? 

Boromir was silent for a long moment. When he looked up, his eyes were dancing. “Well, at least we're together.”

“Finally,” Theodred replied; and then they were in each other's arms, laughing until they wept, because there was nothing at all left to fear.


	5. Redeemed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A coda to the previous.

**Redeemed** , by just_ann_now

 

"...and so I am forever cursed, disgraced as forsworn." Boromir ended bleakly.

Théodred was silent for a long moment. "I do not believe it," he finally replied. "What greater gift can we give, than to lay down our lives in defense of the weak?" 

"But the order was to capture, not kill them. My blood was shed for nothing." 

"They did not know that, nor did you. They saw you willing to die for them, and that memory gave them strength for all that came after. Long will you be remembered, not for your fall from grace, but your sacrifice."


	6. To Wish To Be More

**To Wish To Be More** , by Edoraslass

 

I found Boromir in his office, staring out the window. His expression was troubled, and when I spoke his name, he jerked in his seat as if I had caught him doing something forbidden. 

I had not seen that look in his eyes for many a month; he had gotten better at hiding it, though both I and Faramir knew it for avoidance. I did not know how to broach the subject, so instead what I said was, “Is all well, my friend?”

He looked away from me, back out the window. “It does not seem like it can have been a year,” he replied, voice painfully controlled. “We saw each other so little; sometimes I still cannot quite believe that I will not see him again.”

I went to stand by him, laid my hand on his shoulder. He tensed beneath my touch, and I could not repress a pang of lament at the reaction. “It is to be expected,” I said quietly. “You should not be ashamed of missing him, Boromir.”

His brittle laugh hurt my heart. “I am not ashamed,” he said, and now there was a tremble to his words. “I wish to remember him with joy, but it seems to elude me.”

“You never speak of him,” I said cautiously, “not to Faramir or me.”

Then he looked up at me, and his expression was confusion combined with an aching that was all too familiar. So many people in Minas Tirith had worn that look for months after the Siege. “I did not want to burden my brother –and I did not think that you would want to hear.”

The blunt words took my speech for a moment; Boromir had kindly refused or ignored my overtures on our travels. Of course I had understood why once we reached Edoras, and I had seen his reaction on hearing the news of the battle of the Fords. But I did not know he was aware that even now, I wished to be more to him than just his King. 

I steadied myself with a deep breath. “Of course I would wish to hear,” I said, choosing my words with utmost care, “you are my friend, and he was one of the most important people in your life, Boromir. And you should have someone with whom you can share your memories.”

He gave that laugh again, ran a hand over his face. “I would not know where to start,” he admitted, studying the arm of the chair. “There is so much, and too often, my memories are a trap of sorrow.”

“He would not want you to drown yourself in grief,” I pointed out gently, and was heartened when his shoulders sagged.

“You are right,” he sighed wearily. “He would want me to celebrate his life and the time we had together.” 

“I will hear whatever you wish to say,” I told him, “whenever you wish to say it. I would lend you my strength, if strength is what you need.” 

Boromir glanced up at me, and I realized that perhaps he had taken my words as an advance, which was not what I had intended at all. Yes, I was still strongly drawn to him, but I would never put forth such a suggestion when he was so vulnerable and bereft.

I was preparing an apology when he half-smiled, and reached up to lay his hand over mine. “I know that you will,” he replied softly. His hand fell away, and he looked back out the window, saying, “But not this day, Aragorn. Not this night.” His voice roughened. “You will excuse me if I do not linger at tonight’s banquet? I do not feel like celebrating this Midsummer.”

“Of course,” I said, knowing I would get no more conversation from him. I tightened my grip on his shoulder momentarily, and again, he met my gaze, but this time, I was stunned to see something in his eyes that I had never seen before – longing. Not simply longing for Théodred of Rohan, but a longing I knew well. I had looked after Boromir many times in just that way. It did not shine brightly, and it was combined with something like guilt, but it was there. I understood his conflict, even as it sparked a tiny ember of hope within me. 

“I cannot forget him,” he said after a long silence, “but neither can I so mourn him forever.”

I knew the statement for what it was – both a request for privacy, and a tentative hint of possibilities. “I would not expect you to forget him,” I said honestly, “ and I will listen when you are ready to speak.” 

I left him then, left him to stare out the window and think of his fallen lover, and wondered if I was a fool.


	7. Bitter Sweet

**Bitter Sweet** , by just_ann_now

 

For twenty years my little cousin Lothíriel filled our lives with delight. In her twenty-first year, she was married to King Théodred of Rohan; a useful alliance and a clever one. I danced at her wedding, kissed her and wished her joy, embraced my new kinsman in the sight of all.

I occupied myself at first with some minor military engagements far to the south, and then spent the next several years setting Gondor and Harondor to rights. Peace and prosperity were new to our lands, and for once I enjoyed the travel. I never married; Aragorn did not press me, and after a time I named Faramir and Eowyn's lively boy Elboron as my heir. 

The land of the Horse-Lords prospered as well. Lothíriel bore her husband three strapping sons, assuring the future of the House of Éorl, before a summer chill turned to lung fever and she was taken. For a year and a day Rohan mourned the loss of its queen, and I, my dear cousin. Now I ride north, at last, to give what comfort I can. 

***

For a year and a day we mourned the loss of our gracious queen, she whose charm and laughter had brought such a sense of contentment, of well-being, over the past twenty years. Three fine sons she gave me, and two pretty daughters as high-hearted as herself. I vowed faithfulness to my wife, and my vows were neither bent nor broken, though I was spared the sorest test. 

Today, the messenger brings word of a single rider, a powerfully built man, riding in the style of Gondor, yet bearing no device or livery. My eyes are not as sharp as they once were, but even after so long, I recognize him at once. Startling a tradesman at the gate, I take his horse and ride, ride, far and fast. I would not meet him before the eyes of so many others. 

“My lord king – ”

“My Boromir – ”

At the last, there is no need for words, only the warmth of his embrace, the feel of him in my arms again, comforting.


	8. Master of the Art (added April 9, 2017)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby's first smut! *grin* Originally written October, 2005

**Master of the Art** , by Just_ann_now

A young man’s first experience of lovemaking should be extraordinary, resplendent with joy, and affection, and skill. It’s best that the act not be undertaken by another virgin; for between the two ‘tis possible they will either be so innocent as to waste time uselessly fumbling, or else be so overeager as to be unnecessarily quick or rough. No, for this deed what is needed is a partner of experience, delicacy, and imagination. And based upon his diverse experience, Boromir knows that there is no one in all the lands of Men as exquisitely skilled as Prince Théodred of Rohan - he is, truly, a master of the art. And so, to bless them both, Boromir defers to Théodred, his best-belovèd friend, the gift of the first sweet taste of Faramir’s cock. 

Boromir knows just how it will be: the leather thong binding Faramir’s wrists above his head, the silken blindfold heightening the suspense, Faramir’s lovely body spread out in the candlelight like a feast. First, slow deep kisses to warm and relax; then Théodred’s lips will begin to explore throat and shoulders, chest and belly, advancing and retreating, savoring each sigh, until finally he reaches his goal. 

In his artistry Théodred will start with small light feathery licks, like the fluttering of swallow’s wings, until Faramir will chuckle, _“Ah, good,”_ and shiver with anticipation. Then the motion will change, to long slow strokes, teeth barely scraping the tender underside. Faramir will begin to groan, and his hips to twitch. _“Oh, please,”_ he will murmur, and Théodred will pause for a moment, the abrupt break in the rhythm making Faramir gasp. “What is it, Faramir? What is it you want?” he will whisper, teasingly, while he winks at Boromir. _“I need - please…”_

(Boromir’s own breathing, of course, will be harsh and ragged now as well; and as he watches them, his hands will wander towards his own cock. He could wait, he knows he will be next, he could wait…but still… and, oh, he knows exactly what Faramir is feeling, for he has felt it himself… but never, not ever, enough.)

All the while Théodred’s powerful hands will be running over Faramir’s muscled thighs; or catching his nipple with just the edge of a fingernail; or caressing Faramir’s throat and the tender skin under his ear. Faramir will be thinking that at any moment he may die of the pleasure, and wondering why men bother with war, or mathematics, or poetry, when they could spend their time doing _this._

Then, knowing precisely how much time Faramir has left (because Théodred is, after all, a master of the art) he will slide his hands under Faramir’s hips, forcing him to drive his cock deeper down Theodred’s throat. And he will begin to suck, focusing all his concentration there as Faramir begins his own thrusting, _more, more, harder, yes,_ until finally with a shudder and a sharp triumphant cry, young Faramir will be undone. And Boromir, watching, will be undone as well.

Now will come soft, light strokes, as delicate as a cat licking cream; and then Théodred will finish it off with a gentle kiss on the very tip. He will sit back, surveying his handiwork, those handsome brothers still flushed and breathless. Gently untying the leather, softly removing the blindfold, Théodred will begin to smile, and to laugh; and then Boromir his best-belovèd , and dear Faramir – the three of them laughing, joyous, because they are young, and alive; and for this night at least their bodies are made for pleasure.


End file.
